


Merry Fistmas

by orphan_account



Series: fascinus!verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aromantic Dean, Butt Plugs, Don't Drink and Fist, Double Penetration, Drinking, Endverse Castiel - Freeform, Fisting, M/M, Multi, Nipple Clamps, POV Alternating, Recreational Drug Use, Team Everyone Switches, eager puppy Sam, holiday fic, jingle bells, knitted cock-socks, perversion of christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9060667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It really does look great, the apartment warm and cozy, the cat and the lizard curled up in the corner, the birds chirping on their post. Dean’s two strange boyfriends are all strung with Christmas cheer and he doesn’t really feel the weight of expectation here, but maybe that’s because these two are so off the page there’s no script with them.





	

Coming down from an almost sixty hour sleepless stretch of work, holiday baking, and stress cleaning leaves Castiel jittery, but half a joint and his next knitting project will help that. Stub still smoldering in the pearlescent shell ashtray on his coffee table, Castiel relaxes back into the cradle of his saggy futon as he digs through his knitting bag for the red and green yarn. The apartment smells wonderful, a mix of lemon cleaner, sugar cookies, and the pungent smoke still hazy in the air.  
  
The CD player is off; instead, Castiel can hear the muffled noise of his neighbor practicing cello, and it’s the perfect backdrop for the rhythmic clack of his knitting needles. Momo drags his lunch of fresh greens under his heating lamp to munch on, while the Scream Triplets noisily shred the newspaper lined beneath their perch, and Mr. Bootie takes his spot next to Castiel’s thigh on the couch.  
  
The cat, of course, plays innocent and sweet for all of five minutes. Wide green eyes blinking up slowly at Castiel, looking charming wrapped in a soft pink sweater, Mr. Bootie lays one small gremlin paw on Castiel’s jeans and Castiel very carefully keeps his yarn to the other side of his lap. Slowly, the paw creeps over and Castiel has barely done several rows when Mr. Bootie gives up the pretense of polite inquiry in favor of batting at the yarn.  
  
“Do you want me to ban you from the couch?”  
  
The cat yowls back, paw retreating to his side of Castiel’s lap, eyes carefully tracking the sway of colorful yarn as Castiel clucks his tongue and continues his knitting. At least the cockatiels provide a useful distraction, deciding to settle on the armrest of the futon in a group to heckle the cat. Mr. Bootie would rather play with them than with Castiel’s yarn, so he’s left in peace.  
  
The wide strip of open counter space between the living room and kitchen is lined with racks of Christmas cookies in various states of decoration. Some have already been iced and sprinkled, while others are still cooling. Castiel will pawn off what he can to his co-workers, everyone grateful for sugar in the busy time of preparing the habitats for winter. Some cookies will end up at the soup kitchen where he volunteers - although he’s not supposed to bring goods from home, he doesn’t mind giving them away outside of the church to the regulars who know him. There is a special rack of cookies, though, that he’s designated this year for Sam and Dean.  
  
Although Castiel loves Christmas, it sometimes gives him a bad aftertaste. Unfortunately, he finds himself stupidly nostalgic enough to miss his family this time of year. But after so many family gatherings of being the disappointment child, his attendance tapered out to non-existent and it’s better that way. He used to attend his family’s annual gathering out of a misplaced sense of duty, but the blatant disapproval of his parents and the thinly veiled mockery of his siblings would push him into a negative feedback spiral that could last months after Christmas.   
  
So instead, there have been years that he’s spent this time of year in a drug haze, and years spent in the company of someone else’s bed. He’s found that keeping busy volunteering helps better than those two options. The combination of the three is his favorite way of spending the holidays.   
  
This year, he’s already invited Sam and Dean over for dinner. Not on Christmas, of course, they’ll be spending that day with their respective families. It’s not going to be a Christmas dinner. No. Just a casual Saturday dinner the week before Christmas. And if his apartment is decorated with bright strings of light and gaudy stars hung from every corner, if he has holiday cookies and hand-made presents, well, that’s just in good hospitality.  
  
The presents are almost finished. It’s a bit of a tricky pattern to knit, the shape of it and the design. But with patience, and many many unraveled rows, his knitting project is slowly coming together.  
  
—  
  
There's already been some snow - it is December in Cleveland - but most of the days that they’ve had any snowfall were warm enough to melt it within hours. Sam likes the beginning of winter, the holiday lights and the fluffy white flakes. It’s nice before the snow fall accumulates and turns into brown city sludge. There’s just a rime of frost and a dusting of white that’s marked up by tire tracks in the pot-hole ridden lot behind Cas’ apartment. The white early snow that doesn’t stay makes everything look pretty, fills in the cracks.  
  
Balancing a tray of home-made cookies - they’re ugly, but tasty - he leaves the car door unlocked and slides across the parking lot laughing as Dean flips up the collar to his wool coat and grumbles about the cold.  
  
Dean is a grumpy pants and he performs Christmas like it’s a commercial. Get enough rum in him and he warms up, sure, but Sam is eager to see how festive Cas is. Cas strikes him as the type to get into all the cheer and goodwill for mankind spirit of the holiday. Cas promised them a big home cooked meal and Sam swears he can smell it creeping down the hallway stairs that always stink just a bit with an old afternote of piss or vomit.  
  
Eager and trying not to bounce on the balls of his feet, Sam holds his tray of cookies as Dean neatly removes his gloves, folds them, and tucks them in his pocket before knocking on the door to Cas’ apartment. It sports an old fake wreath whose plastic leaves and boughs look like they’ve seen better days, but there’s shiny new ribbon and tinsel twined around it.  
  
Sam can definitely smell the food now and he’s not ashamed to admit he’s salivating.  
  
“God, I hope he’s not as Christmas crazy as you are,” Dean mumbles.  
  
“I’m not crazy, you’re crazy, who doesn’t love Christmas?”  
  
Sam’s pretty sure that Cas will be on his side that Christmas is the best holiday when the door swings open to bare arms and bare feet, and Cas has an apron on that’s striped like a candy cane, swooping black letters across the front declaring ‘Lick Me’.  
  
“Hi, you guys are early…”  
  
He’s bare in the back too, when he turns away from the door and shuffles over to the kitchen area.  
  
“Dude, we’re late,” Dean tells Cas, “It’s almost seven thirty.”  
  
Adjusting knobs on the stove, Cas squints at the clock. “Oh, I must of lost track.”   
  
Sam is a little miffed to see racks and containers of cookies stacked on the counter. Cas still lights up when he sees the fake-crystal tray wrapped in saran that Sam has.  
  
“Did you make those?” Cas stands in front of him, eyes wide and he looks like he’s ready to start vibrating. Sam wonders how many cookies he’s had already. Or, other things.  
  
“Yeah, looks like you have plenty but uh, Merry Christmas!”  
  
-  
  
The whole apartment is washed in festive colors, strings of multi hued lights hanging off the ceiling all along the small hallway and into the bedroom too, there’s even an icicle strand of lights layered over the beaded curtain. Dean doesn’t see a tree, but with all the plants and animals packed into the tiny place, there’s no room for one. It smells fucking amazing, and Dean skipped lunch so he could pig out guilt-free, but as soon as his shoes are kicked off and jacket laid over the back of the futon, Cas shoves him towards the bedroom as Sam stumbles after.   
  
“You’re not festive enough,” is the only excuse Dean gets when Cas whips his belt off to pull his jeans down and Dean can go hungry for another hour.   
  
Dean falls on the bed, Sam crawling in already naked and hard and it’s kind of impressive how fast he can get it up.   
  
“What, and covering me in jizz will be festive?” Dean asks under the press of Sam’s body. Sam’s mouth garbles the last few words, going at Dean like he’s the appetizer.   
  
“I have things in mind,” Cas tells them. He can be a cryptic, weird son of a bitch and for a moment Dean is kind of worried.   
  
But Cas, still in his fucking apron - dick tenting the front - is watching from the foot of the bed when he adds, “Sam, I want you to fuck him and come inside him.”  
  
Honestly, Dean’s mind is still a fraction on dinner and he’s vaguely distracted when Sam flips him over. It’s automatic response to lift up onto hands and knees as Sam’s sure grip pulls his hips back. Cas is oven-warmed as he finally joins them in bed, leaning against Dean’s side and there’s Sam’s slick fingers in his ass already. Dean just sighs as he drops his head to the mattress.   
  
“You should take that fucking apron off,” Dean tells Cas.   
  
Resting his weight on his shoulders, Dean reaches a hand out to sneak up the hard muscle of Cas’ thigh under his apron, get a hold of his dick and slick precome around the head with a thumb. Dean really kind of likes the way the barbells feel. He likes it better sliding over his tongue. “C’mon, take it off, I’ll suck you.”  
  
Single-handed, Sam pulls his hips up higher and nudges his thighs wider, slick long fingers working expertly and Dean can feel all the built-up tension, the stress, the general irritability of the season start to thaw and drip away.   
  
It’s not that Dean doesn’t like Christmas, it’s just that it’s a whole season of guilt-trips and feeling like you’re not doing enough. This is easy. Dean could do this in his sleep - actually, that’s not a bad idea. He understands this kind of language better than sentiments.  
  
Apron untied and thrown aside, Cas kneels closer to Dean’s face and thumbs at the corner of his lips. “You are such a good boy Dean, look at you.”  
  
Heat blooms under his skin and Dean whines when Sam pulls away. Cas wedges himself between the wall and Dean, cockhead sliding over his lips and Dean purses them to drag a cheek along it before opening wide. Sam’s hot-slicked dick presses with a twinge of pain and pops in. God he’s so huge Dean swears it feels new every time because getting fucked by it causes brain damage.   
  
“Make it quick Sam,” Cas pants as he lazily rolls his hips up, fucking Dean’s throat and dragging along his tongue, “the ham’s only got another half hour. I have plans for later, too, so, ungh, yeah Dean fuck…”  
  
Sam grunts and fucks Dean harder, pushing him forward. When Sam lays forward along his back, curl of muscle and heat dragging over every plane of Dean’s body, gets a hand in the longer hair on top of Dean’s head and squeezes, shoves him down on Cas’ cock as Sam snaps his hips filthy-deep, oh, it’s over -  
  
“Don’t come Dean,” Cas fucking near growls at him, sternly, pinching Dean’s nose and fucking deeper in his throat cutting off air and everything gets fuzzy tight and bright right there right fucking there.  
  
Sam’s pulling out, Cas is pulling out, Dean’s ass is dripping wet and his cock is leaking but he hasn’t come yet, he doesn’t think. It’s kind of hard to tell. His body feels like one giant cramp, and both Sam and Cas are flipping him over, Sam slicking up Dean’s dick and sitting on it and Jesus Christ he’s going to get whiplash.  
  
Sex whiplash. That’s totally a thing.   
  
-   
  
Watching Sam bounce on Dean’s cock is a sight that will never cease to inspire awe and wonder in Castiel. Dick still fat and wet, not rock hard anymore but it kind of flops in a cute way. His chest and stomach are toned to a degree that requires both lucky genetics and hard work, and he is simply meant to be adored. Which Castiel does. Very admiringly.   
  
Lain back against the wall with one hand tangled in Dean’s sweaty hair, Castiel hums appraisingly as Sam leans back to brace his hands on Dean’s thighs, stretching his lean body out in a way that shows off rippling muscles even better.   
  
“That’s very nice Sam, I want you all wet inside too. You like that, hm, Dean lingering inside you?”  
  
“God, yes,” Sam’s not even out of breath and his thighs tighten against Dean’s sides as Dean bucks up into him.   
  
Plump lip caught between his teeth, Dean’s eyes are screwed shut as he trembles and digs his heels into the mattress, already brought right up to the edge and Castiel doubts if it’s even a minute of Sam riding him enthusiastically before Dean cries out. Fingers gripped so tight onto Sam’s trim hips that the skin around pales whiter, Dean holds him down.   
  
Panting, Dean rolls his head to the side and nuzzles against Cas’ lap.   
  
“What, you just, want y’re pick of sloppy seconds, r’somethin’?”  
  
There’s a weak hand petting at his erection, and Sam is rocking on Dean’s lap with eyes hood-lidded and a sate smile on his face.   
  
“Not quite,” Castiel leans down to kiss Dean’s forehead, then pats Sam’s chest, rising from the bed to get at all the things he’d set out on his dresser for the occasion.   
  
Sam has flopped down beside Dean, shoulder to hip, heads turned and lazily kissing. They’re adorable.   
  
“M’hungry,” Sam informs them.  
  
Two bright green plugs - medium - in hand, Castiel finds the lube in the tangle of sheets and kneels between Sam and Dean. Pushing Sam’s leg up, there’s a contented sigh as Sam squirms down onto the toy. He scratches his chest and yawns, stretching.  
  
Dean, for his turn, crooks a cynical eyebrow and nudges at Cas with toes, “Cas, please tell me those aren’t supposed to look like Christmas trees.”  
  
“Of course they are.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Dean groans and Sam curls onto his side, hauling Dean’s thigh wide to help Cas and giggling as he nuzzles into Dean’s neck.   
  
“Because this is my Christmas dinner and I want to. I cooked, you don’t mind getting a little festive for me, do you?”  
  
“It’s not Christmas yet,” Dean grouses.  
  
“No, but this is my celebration with you.”  
  
“I think it’s great, Cas,” Sam tells him.   
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Suck up,” Dean grumbles, tilting his hips up as Cas swipes a trail of come up Dean’s skin and presses against his hole, teasing, appreciating, before sliding the plug home.   
  
“Now,” Castiel kneels up and goes back to the dresser, “There’s just a few more things.”  
  
-  
  
“These are adorable, oh my god, did you make these yourself?”  
  
Sitting on the edge of the bed now, wiggling his hips down to feel the plug shift inside, Sam is full of come and Christmas cheer and Cas has just presented him with winter-snowflake-themed Christmas wear but it’s very, very small. Sitting in the palm of his hand it looks like, well, it’s not a mitten. There’s a red one for him and a green one for Dean and Cas is beaming at them.  
  
“Of course I made them. Here, I’ll help snug them on…”  
  
Dean is rubbing the very soft knitted material between his fingers, cheeks rosy probably from the sex but Sam bets he’s blushing a little too.   
  
“Is this,” Dean pouts at Cas, “Are these cock-socks?”  
  
Cas is knelt between Sam’s legs, loosening the knitted ribbon around the opening of the… oh god they are cock-socks… and he slips it up over Sam’s cock then snugs the balls inside too.   
  
Man, it is cozy and toasty.  
  
The little knitted ribbon tightens around the base to secure it in place and Sam scrunches his toes against the floor as he loops an arm around Cas’ shoulders, pulling him in for a big sloppy kiss.   
  
“I love it, thanks Cas!”  
  
Sam has never worn a cock-sock before. It’s knitted, and home-made, and seasonal. It’s just so goddam thoughtful.  
  
“Wow, that is, really soft. Kind of nice.” Dean has put his own on, fiddling with the little ribbon.  
  
“I’m glad it meets with your approval,” Cas says. There’s a tone of sarcasm - there usually is with Cas - but there’s a tone of sincerity too.   
  
Dean slaps his hands on his thighs, “Dinner? I’m starved.”  
  
“One more thing…”  
  
There’s clover nipple clamps connected with a silver chain, two pairs, and a tray of shiny miniature Christmas ornaments and jingle bells. Sam’s is grinning so hard it hurts because this is a complete perversion of the holiday and it’s really pretty fun. Cas always comes up with the weirdest shit.   
  
“You cannot be serious.”  
  
Dean doesn’t seem too enthused.   
  
Sam takes the initiative to grab a pair of nipple clamps and start decorating himself, pinching his nipples out to make sure the clamps are secured firmly. Dangling a little bunch of red and green painted bells from a chain link, Sam shimmies his chest.  
  
“You two get to be my Christmas trees,” Cas smiles broadly and he looks a little manic but sometimes he really gets excited about things. Sam likes that about him.   
  
Sam slaps a hand between Dean’s shoulder blades. “C’mon Dean, get in the holiday spirit.”  
  
-  
  
Burning River Christmas Ale, Mad Elf, Leg Humper Chocolate Peppermint Boch, “Jesus it’s like Christmas is on a bender in here….” in the back there’s a six pack of cans - two ripped off - with a giant green fist on them and a naked Santa in a barrel. Fistmas Holiday Ale. “Seriously, Fistmas?”  
  
Dean pulls them out, cold air of the open fridge on his bare hip - at least his junk is warm - and holds his find up as Cas twists to look from where he’s slicing the ham.  
  
“Oh that’s a good one, dark, very herbal, rich.”  
  
Shrugging, Dean pops one can off to put back in the fridge then closes the door.  
  
Cas points to the cupboard. “Pour it in glasses, it gets a nice head.”  
  
“I’ll give you a nice head,” Dean mumbles, shuffling around the cat underneath their feet to find glasses. The little guy is wearing his own festive sweater, red with big white snow-flakes in tidy rows and it looks like the same kind of pattern on the cock-socks Cas made.  
  
Dean tries not to think about it too hard. He feels ridiculous enough in his own festive wear without considering that he matches the goddam cat.   
  
The cat meows and paws at his leg as Dean pours the beer, Cas and Sam alternating as they take dishes of food out of the small kitchen space. There’s no pom-pom hat on the hairless alien, crude tattoo on it’s head visible and it always curdles Dean’s stomach to be reminded what kind of people are out there.  
  
The cat shuffles out of the way when Cas plasters himself against Dean’s back. He’s got the apron on again. Dean and Sam have to suffer the indignity - according to Sam, the amusement - of being Cas’ personal bedecked Christmas trees, and Cas is just wearing a stupid apron. But his smile is wide as he curls an arm around Dean’s waist and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek, picking up one of the glasses to carry in and giving Dean a pat on the ass.  
  
“Friggin’ weirdo’”, Dean tells to his beer as he steals a sip. It’s pretty damn good.   
  
The food is spread across the coffee table, Sam sprawled on the futon and playing with the jingle bells strung across his chest, while Cas settles onto a large pillow on the floor. Dean takes a spot next to Sam and passes a beer.  
  
It actually looks like a pretty traditional holiday meal. Baked ham, green bean casserole, rolls, mashed potatoes. And there’s enough cookies to give the Girl Scouts a run for their money.  
  
“This looks great!” Sam practically vibrates next to Dean, leg jigging up and down, looking ready to devastate the feast as soon as Cas gives him the okay.  
  
It really does look great, the apartment warm and cozy, the cat and the lizard curled up in the corner, the birds chirping on their post. Dean’s two strange boyfriends are all strung with Christmas cheer and he doesn’t really feel the weight of expectation here, but maybe that’s because these two are so off the page there’s no script with them.  
  
“Yeah, Cas, thanks for making dinner.”  
  
-  
  
Although he had managed to hope, Castiel was not entirely certain that Dean would be amenable to his festive suggestions. He had learned, however, that it was easier to coax Dean into most things if Sam was in favor. Two against one proved to be an effective strategy.   
  
Belly full and there’s a small forest of empty beer bottles cropped up around the food dishes on the coffee  table, Castiel wedges himself between Sam and Dean on the couch with his cigarette tin of pre-rolled joints. It aids digestion, truly.   
  
“Man, I can’t wait to see my little sister,” Dean leans against Castiel’s side, sluggish.  
  
“Jo?” Sam asks, taking the joint Castiel passes.  
  
“That’s the only sister I got.”  
  
“Right, yeah no, definitely. I want to meet her someday.”  
  
Castiel thinks that would be nice too, to meet Sam and Dean’s families, but he can’t offer the same in return.   
  
“I ever tell you she’s an MMA fighter? Always busy with training and traveling, it’s intense.”  
  
“That’s unfortunate,” Cas takes the joint from Sam and passes to Dean, “but I’m sure it must be rewarding.”  
  
“She fucking kicks ass,” Dean tells them. He takes a small drag, barely a puff, and passes back.   
  
Castiel props his feet on the edge of the table and breathes in deep, focusing on the sensation of it. It’s relaxing, meditative even he would say. Steady, mindful breathing.  
  
Sam’s lips drag lightly over his cheek and Sam drapes a little over his lap, plucking the joint up for himself. “What about you Cas, do you have Christmas plans with your family? I know you guys don’t really get along well, but.”  
  
Someone’s hand is under his apron.  
  
“No, no, I haven’t gone home for Christmas in years. It only ends in disappointment and self loathing.”  
  
“Shit, that sucks.” Dean sounds genuinely upset.  
  
Cas passes to him and shrugs, “It is what it is. How about you Sam, what sort of traditions does your family have?”  
  
“Oh man I’ll have to bring home some of my moms’ cooking for you.” Sam slaps him on the chest, forgetting how strong he is - it stings a little.  “Donna makes these amazing donuts from scratch, and Jody does thing with the turkey and beer, I’ll get extra leftovers. There’s a free ice skating rink set up in the park near our house, we always go early in the morning before presents, I think that’s my favorite part.”  
  
Castiel hums as Sam babbles, soaking up excitement second hand. Sam and Dean bounce back and forth with stories, whoever hasn’t got the joint - the second, third, was there a fourth - and their individual stories feed into each other. There is a commonality of shared experience, even with vastly different upbringings, a sameness of tradition and familial cohesiveness. It’s comforting.  
  
When Sam starts slobbering too much and soaking the tip, Castiel decides to revoke pass privileges, and instead straddles Sam’s lap to breathe into his mouth. It’s nice this way too, huge hands on bare hips, soft knitted cock-sock against his taint until it falls off when Sam gets hard but his skin his silky and Castiel likes that too.   
  
His hands could get lost in Sam’s hair, wander off and never come back. That would be alright.   
  
There’s giggling coming from the floor.   
  
Twisting around on Sam’s lap, Castiel finds Dean sitting hunched over and cross-legged petting Momo. He flicks the iguana’s dewlap and shakes with laughter.  
  
“Please don’t harass Momo.”   
  
Startled, Dean straightens and clears his throat.   
  
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d rather harass you.”  
  
-  
  
The cock-socks are left behind in the living room. Dean ripped his jingle-bell-nipple-clamps off somewhere in the hallway, loud clatter of chain and bells hitting the wall and no one stopped because they were stumbling tangle-limbed and giggly-high towards the bedroom.   
  
Sam keeps his jingle bells on. He likes them. The clamps hurt but it’s the kind of dull throb that reverberates down into his dick somehow and he’ll never figure out why nipples do that. The metal is skin warmed and bites when Cas shoves Dean against his chest, apron ripped off, and Sam is reaching to get his hands on whatever skin is closest when his world tip-tilts.   
  
Dean shoves him onto the bed. The jingle-bells chime with every bounce and Sam is reduced to a pile of snuffling laughter as Dean gets his arms around Cas - who squeaks - and throws him onto the bed next to Sam. Looks like someone’s had enough festivity.   
  
Sam wonders if the plug is still in Dean. His is still in, it’s the best kind of subtle pleasure that fades into the background until he moves just right.   
  
“Now it’s our turn,” Dean’s smiling in the way that means he’s calculating something, and he crawls onto the bed opposite of Sam, pressing Cas in between them.   
  
“What’re you thinking?” Sam asks, because he’s never been good at keeping his curiosity in check.  
  
Bracing a hand on Cas’ chest, Dean leans over him and bites at Sam’s lip, uncoordinated, all three of them swaying on the bed like it’s a boat at sea.   
  
“Pass the lube,” Dean tells him.  
  
Rolling over, Sam finds that it’s on his side of the bed. As Dean shuffles down between Cas’ legs, a strong arm curls around Sam’s shoulders and he’s pulled down for a kiss. Cas’ beard is overgrown and unkempt, soft though, so fucking soft and Sam half-kisses while he rubs his face all over Cas. It’s okay though, Cas stops kissing back, digs his head against the pillow in a silent gasp and Sam leans up on an elbow because he wants to watch.   
  
Knelt up between Cas’ bent legs, looking at the two of them with parted lips and red-rimmed eyes, Dean works his fingers into Cas’ body as he strokes a thigh, his own hard cock tapping up against his stomach and there’s still faint imprints on his peaked nipples from the clamps. Sam has to get his mouth on those. He has to. It’s dire.   
  
Loose-limbed and unspooled, Sam almost falls across Cas when he tries to get to Dean, and he always forgets how much getting cross-faded affects him.  Dean slings an arm around his shoulder when he’s close enough, solid and heavy and god Sam could die happy buried under his body.   
  
Cas’ rim is stretched four-fingers wide, dusky skin gradates to pale to pink, soft soft insides pulling out a little on the backstroke, and isn’t that a great sight.   
  
There’s a sloppy kiss on his cheek, Dean’s eyes unfocused and glassy, “Gonna make this a merry fistmas, Sammy…”  
  
Squirming under them, Cas stretches his hands above his head to brace his palms on the wall, “Are you really taking sex suggestions from a beer can?”  
  
“Hell yeah. Girls take suggestions from Cosmo.”  
  
Cas rolls his eyes. “You read Cosmo.”  
  
“What. No.”  
  
“I’ve seen it in your bathroom, Dean.”  
  
Sam nods, pats Dean’s ass. “I’ve seen your Cosmo too.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
Huffing, Dean shoulder-checks him, focuses back on getting more hand into Cas’ ass.   
  
And Sam is definitely watching this.   
  
Hand slipping down the hot swell of Dean’s ass, skin already slick with sweat, Sam’s curious fingers find the plastic of the plug still inside and tap. Dean jerks, moans and leans back against it. Nibbling over the curve of his shoulder, Sam scoots a little more back, still on the outside of Cas’ legs while Dean is on the inside, but he can reach well enough to hook his chin on Dean’s shoulder - he kind of needs the support - rubbing absently at the wet twitch of Dean’s rim.   
  
“Where’s the lube?”  
  
Dean’s fingers are out and Sam feels the plastic bottle by his legs, taking his attention off Dean’s stuffed ass for a moment just to uncap and pour.   
  
“Yeah, come on,” Cas mumbles and gets both hands on the backs of his thighs, pulling his legs up and open wide, Road-Runner defying gravity upside down.   
  
“Jesus,” Sam breathes, one hand covered on top of Cas’ and pushing his leg wider, one hand gripped on Dean’s hip, watching the careful tuck of his fingers twisting and the wrinkled skin of Cas’ hole smooths as it stretches around the thick of Dean’s knuckles, hand popping inside to the wrist as Cas pants.   
  
Rutting against Dean’s thigh, Sam slides a hand down to Cas’ cock gone soft and thumbs under the head, rolling the barbell there while Cas mumbles inanities.   
  
Beer cans. Cosmo. Wherever Dean gets his ideas, they’re always good ideas.   
  
-  
  
This isn’t his first time fisting someone, but it’s his first time fisting Cas, and he comes apart so pretty with a glimmer of tears in the corners of his eyes wide open and watching, mouth twisted up on nonsense murmurs, with fingers digging into the backs of his thighs.   
  
“Get your dick in his mouth,” Dean tells Sam.  
  
Pretty hazel eyes blink at him, Sam’s still got the goddam string of bells across his chest and Dean’s not sure how it hasn’t been pulled off yet. Sam hums and nuzzles against his neck, fingers teasing around Dean’s ass but that’s not what’s going to happen here.   
  
Slowly curling his fingers into a fist, silk heat crush of Cas’ body pulsing around him, Dean rocks his hand incrementally. “Open up for Sam.”  
  
Blinking, trickle of tears dripping out of his eyes into his hairline, Cas groans and rolls his hips, turns his head on the pillow and opens his mouth, tongue lolling out.   
  
“Oh.” Sam humps Dean a few more times before he crawls up the bed and braces a hand on the wall, using the other to hold his dick and slap it across Cas’ scruffy cheek.   
  
“There you go,” Dean mumbles, hazy headed and heavy, curling over Cas as he pushes deeper. Fumbling across the dirty bedsheets for the lube, Dean drips more over his forearm and the red stretch of Cas’ rim. His soft dick is so fucking pretty, plumped up a little from Sam’s attention, barbells shiny in the half-light that slants in from the hallway and the grow lamps in the corner. The bedroom light would be too bright right now, this is perfect, just like this.   
  
Letting one thigh go, splayed open, Cas reaches up to circle an arm around Sam’s waist and pull him closer. Sam’s so hard his dick is turning that deep shade of red, stomach clenching and twisting as he leans over Cas and gets his dick in that dirty mouth.   
  
The bed squeaks under them and Dean thinks his favorite sound in the whole world must be the slick squelch of too much lube and spit and someone getting fucked from both ends. He doesn’t even mind the tinkling sound of jingle-bells slapping against Sam’s toned chest as he starts fucking deep with quick snaps of his hips.   
  
Dean clenches and rocks his hand gently a few more times, pushing deeping before drawing back to stretch Cas on his knuckles and punching in, picking up the pace quick. Cas’ whole body convulses under them, moans muffled around Sam’s dick, and Dean works deeper. Getting his balance better on his knees, Dean wraps a hand around Cas’ cock and squeezes firm, stroking him hard and pre-come is dripping out of him.   
  
“Sam, c’mere, feel me inside here,” Dean has to call Sam’s attention a few times, but Sam turns around, dick shallowly resting in Cas’ mouth as he leans and splays his big hand over Cas’ belly, below the navel, and presses.   
  
Dean can feel it from inside, and Sam groans feral when he realizes what he’s feeling, pressing harder and making Cas scream. There’s a little pain in the noise, but mostly Cas starts scrabbling to hold onto Dean’s arm. Sam shuffles closer, cock bouncing free in his lap spit-shiny as Cas curls up and thrashes.   
  
“You wanna come like this sweetheart, come on my fist, all swollen up inside?”  
  
“Fuckfuckfuckohgodfuck -”  
  
His voice is cracking, wrecked. Dean twists his fingers around the head of Cas’ dick and punches in almost to mid forearm while Sam gets both hands on Cas’ belly, pressing and curious. Dean can feel when Cas’ insides clamp around him and seize, so fucking tight his bones hurt and he doesn’t stop the sharp shallow motion of his fist until Cas has striped his belly with come up to his chin and it’s splattered messy over Sam, just keeps drip-dripping while Cas makes noises like he’s dying and collapses - then, Dean stops and uncurls his hand.  
  
“Shit, that was beautiful sweetheart, you’re awesome…”  
  
Sam still has both hands on Cas’ belly, eyes wide and lower lip bit between his teeth. He’s kneed up close enough to Cas that he can rub his dick over Cas’ ribs. When he leans down to kiss Cas, Dean sees claw marks in wild red lines over his back and side.   
  
One hand sticky with come, the other still inside Cas, Dean leans over to kiss a knee and says, “Relax, I’ll go slow,” as he tucks his fingers in and pulls out. Sam swallows Cas’ whimpers and Dean kneels up, grimacing at himself.  “Give me a minute.”  
  
Knee-walking back off the bed, he turns for the hallway to wash up in the bathroom - he needs to get this damn plug out too - and Sam’s soft “Where’re you going,” trails after him.  
  
Cas just groans.  
  
-  
  
The world is a beautiful haze of texture and sound and heat, but there’s pleasure so intense it cuts sharp through the honey crawl of swirling perception and Castiel sees not the face of god but an understanding of divinity, pure and infinite.   
  
There’s a sweet mouth eating eagerly at his, large hands strong and gentle sloping down his sides and when Castiel blinks the world into focus Sam sways over him, hair sweat-stuck to his forehead and cheeks red blotchy. Feeling woefully hollow without Dean between his legs, Castiel reaches for Sam, tongue tripping over endearments and fingers skidding without purchase on skin.   
  
He’s so loose and wet that Sam’s cock slides in easy as anything but it still stings and Sam murmurs softness when Castiel whimpers. Something scratches at Castiel’s chest, there’s a melody to the universe, and he laughs at the shine of bells still hanging off Sam’s nipples. That was a good decision, to put those there. Sam brings him back to himself, grounds him on a glorious dick that fucks right into where Dean’s fist had him wide and Castiel slaps his hands around until they land on Sam’s shoulders, clamps his thighs tight against the swell-stretch of Sam’s sides.  
  
“Get ‘im up, in your lap,” floats from somewhere around, around, ah there’s Dean.   
  
Burying himself, Sam wraps strong arms around Castiel’s waist and heaves. Limp and utterly content to let them have their way, Castiel lolls his head against Sam’s shoulder and at least attempts a display of sensual invitation with a wiggle of his hips. Dean is fever hot behind him, pampered hands gliding down his back as Sam nuzzles into his hair.   
  
“You think we’ll both fit?”  
  
Sam’s voice is rough and close enough to Castiel’s ear his breath tickles.  
  
Dean ruts against the small of Castiel’s back, fingers dipping lower, sliding with insistence and very little resistance in alongside Sam. Castiel can’t help giggling, full to bursting and greedy, greedy, wrapped up in the two of them he needs nothing but more of them.   
  
“C’mon, darling, gonna let me in?”  
  
Holding on to Sam for dear life with one arm, Castiel dares to fling the other behind him and finds the curve of Dean’s neck, “Yeah, do it.”  
  
Eyes rolling back in his head, the pressure swells and fades as pleasure crests and Castiel melts. They surround him, chase divinity within him and Castiel inhales shared breath. He is a vessel and his purpose lies in emptiness, in the vastness of potential. This is an act of becoming.   
  
...   
  
The entirety of his existence throbs like a pulse.   
  
Quietly, Castiel had shuffled out of the bedroom, leaving Dean and Sam groping each other, to get water from the kitchen. Water was a necessity. He may have smoked in excess, but celebration is a time for indulgence. Tongue thick and cotton dry, Castiel gulps an entire glass of water, then a half, before filling it again and padding back to the bedroom. Shutting off the overhead light in the living room, the soft glow of colored lights still plugged in guide him back to the bedroom. A detour to the bathroom first, however, is a wise decision.  
  
Sprawled messy and half covered, Sam is tucked against Dean who gestures at Castiel.   
  
“Are you thirsty?” He asks after carefully climbing back into their little nest of iniquity.  
  
“Nnngh.”   
  
Is the only answer he gets to his query. Dean pushes an arm behind his back as Castiel leans, half seated, to finish his water. He still feels almost turned inside out.   
  
There’s a meow from near his hip. Mr. Bootie still has his lovely Christmas sweater on, but his hat has fallen off somewhere. Castiel assumes that is what the cat has dragged into bed in his mouth, familiar knitted red with white snowflakes pattern, but Castiel finds that it is decidedly not a hat when the cat drops it in his hand.  
  
“Ah, Mr. Bootie I am afraid that you’ve found one of our guests’ gifts.”   
  
The cat yowls.  
  
“This isn’t your hat, honey.”  
  
If he sets the cock-sock on the side-table, the cat will only drag it back into his lap. Making a mental note to remember to take it out and give it back to its owner tomorrow, Castiel tucks it into the drawer.   
  
Mr. Bootie, by now, has climbed into his lap and begun kneading his belly. Shuffling down to lay next to Dean, who only warily squints at the cat and yawns, drifting off, Castiel pets the soft bare head of his cat and pulls at the blankets.   
  
“We’ll keep you warm.”  
  
Tired as he is, Castiel’s mind splits into fractal thoughts.  
  
There are a lot of reasons for Castiel to have conflicted thoughts about the Christmas season. It can be a difficult time for anyone. Sometimes, he longs to be folded back into his family, but he knows better than to try. The religious meaning of the holiday has faded for him as he has strayed from Christianity, and the giddy excitement of youth for the bustle and brightness has dimmed, dragged down by a cynicism he struggles with.   
  
But despite the holiday induced existential melancholia, there is a spark to the season that never seems to extinguish. This time of year always brings an ache, a yearning to be included, rose-hued dreams of home and hearth.  
  
Mr. Bootie head-butts his chin.    
  
Sam is snoring on his side of the bed, curled up small and clutching at Dean’s arm lain under his head. Dean, for his part, spreads on his back to reach an arm around each of them. Fingers drowsily circle in slower and slower paths over Castiel’s shoulder as he succumbs to sleep. Their outlines glow other-worldly in the wash of the grow lamps’ light.   
  
These are his boys. They are simultaneously unto themselves and unto each other as much as they are Castiel’s. This is his home and hearth, his altar and house of worship. The offer they make of themselves is all he needs, to fill this aching fragile nothing space inside him until it’s overflowing with warmth.  
  
Kissing the tip of his cat’s nose, Castiel shifts just so, tilting towards Dean without upsetting Mr. Bootie. The four of them shift, settle, and sigh. The world breathes.  
  
This is all he needs for Christmas. 

 

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A/N: Being set in Swesson verse a la 4.17 'It's a Terrible Life', Dean's parents are Bobby and Ellen and his sister is Jo. It's never stated who Sam's parents are, and Hound came up with the most brilliant idea of Jody and Donna being Sam's adoptive mothers (awwww<3). Also, I just want you to know that Fistmas Ale is real and it is delicious (And I don't know how to include photos in notes so that's why there's no note just this stupid message tacked on the end but hey)

 

 


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